


Thunderclap

by Synchron



Series: Punchy's Bizarre Adventures [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, First Meetings, Gen, Organized Crime, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22879648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synchron/pseuds/Synchron
Summary: There's been a clear misunderstanding, but Dante has never been the type to be direct with his words, and she is far too stubborn.This is is a very rough one-off draft, put here for archival purposes...!
Relationships: Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Punchy's Bizarre Adventures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644661
Comments: 9
Kudos: 10





	Thunderclap

**Author's Note:**

> And another from tumblr for archival purposes!! For those who don't follow me on tumblr, the long and short of it is that I have a very self indulgent OC who possesses a Devil Arm similar to Beowulf, who I lovingly refer to as Punchy. I haven't fully fleshed out her narrative beyond main plot points, but the name of the game is is essentially Enemies To Lovers.
> 
> Punchy is the glorified guard dog to one of Red Grave's oldest crimelords, and due to a misunderstanding, she's come to Devil May Cry for some Answers. She is essentially who they send when things go wrong, and things have indeed gone wrong. 👀 The one shot itself is still incredibly rough - I wrote it when I had even less of an idea on what I wanted out of her narrative arc than I do right now, but I hope this is a fun read anyway!!

For once, things are quiet at Devil May Cry. The jukebox sits completely ignored in the corner with nary a sound coming from its frayed speakers, and though normally at this time of day, Dante can normally be seen napping, he instead sits quietly, flipping through old files in preparation for an upcoming job. As it turns out, keeping references of previous jobs on hand is indeed beneficial, though Dante will be in the ground long before he admits it to his brother. Speaking of, Vergil sits at his own desk, perpendicular to Dante's, penning said new job into his business ledger. The fan gently whirs overhead, the blades slowly cutting through the air to provide (in)adequate ventilation in the stuffy office. Honestly, one fan in such a large open space? What were the interior designers thinking when they built this place? But Vergil has to remind himself that the 'interior designer' in question is none other than Dante himself - many of the fixtures around the office were installed by Dante long ago. For better or for worse.   
  
"What was the client's name again?" Vergil taps the pen on the paper as he tries to recall it, eyes trailing up towards the ceiling in thought. Ugh, there's mold all the way up there. Is there a leak in the ceiling he isn't aware of? He mentally puts a tab on it to remind himself to set some money aside to get it fixed. How did Dante tolerate living in such squalor for so long?   
  
"Uhhh." That honestly tells Vergil all he needs to know about whether or not Dante holds the answer to his question. "Weren't you the one who spoke to him last?"   
  
Well. Yes. But that's well beside the point.   
  
More lowkey exasperated than actually annoyed, Vergil dramatically rolls his eyes. "I'll call Morrison. He will know." With a low groan of his chair scraping backwards on the floorboards, Vergil drops the pen in his hands atop his open ledger and steps over to Dante's desk, immediately going for the phone. But his hand stops just short of the phone's receiver on the cradle, feeling a mild jolt of static electricity leap from the phone to the very tips of his fingers. It doesn't hurt - something as insignificant as mere static electricity isn't enough to pose even an inconvenience, let alone a threat. And yet his eyes narrow down at the innocuous phone… how so very strange to have that sort of static build up at this time of year.   
  
"Hey do you smell that?" Dante's already sniffing the air even as he asks that question, and with a vague tilt of his head, Vergil watches him for a moment before he too gives the air a slow, tentative sniff. It smells… damp? A little humid? Almost like… "Rain?"   
  
Vergil touches his fingertips together, eyes narrowing at this strange occurrence. It doesn't just feel like rain. Not with the fizzle he felt in his fingertips. "I think more a storm."   
  
And one that doesn't feel at all natural.   
  
When Vergil's gaze flickers over to his brother, Dante already seems to understand - all traces of humour have fallen away from his face, because something is certainly coming. A demon? Unlikely - they would have detected its actual physical presence instead of the mere symptoms of it. So what then? Because the charge in the air is by no means the work of a mere human.   
  
The sound of the front door being kicked open by an unknown figure has the twins on immediate alert, primed and ready to face whatever dares invade their property. As the double doors slam back on their hinges, a lone figure stands. She doesn't wait for the dust to settle, already stomping several paces inside and loudly, brazenly declaring herself.   
  
"You've got some gigantic balls to be starting shit on our turf." The woman tugs at the sleeves of her jacket, blows an errant lock of maroon hair from her face and makes a show of cracking her knuckles, showcasing the odd gauntlets that adorn both of her hands. They look to be made of steel, but even at a cursory glance, both twins immediately know it isn't of any metal to be found in the human world. It covers her hands and forearms like armour, sheets of backwards facing plates that look almost like feathers. And they pulse with a crackle. A sizzle of electricity.   
  
The storm.   
  
A Devil Arm.   
  
Dante looks to Vergil, hoping for an explanation as to what the woman is talking about, but he finds that Vergil is mirroring that exact look, reflecting it right back at him. He turns his head to regard the woman in the doorway again. "Look, lady, I honestly have no clue what you're talking about. I suggest you head back to whoever sent you and get your facts checked before feelings get hurt."   
  
He glances down at her clenched fists, noticing for the first time that it isn't just her arms that are… well. Armed. She's sporting a pair of greaves too. Forged from the same material, and abuzz with the same charged crackle of electricity. If this keeps up, it might not just be feelings that are in danger.   
  
So much for it being quiet..   
  
"Like  _ fuck _ I'm gonna do that. We have video proof of your crimes." She marches through the office, making an immediate beeline towards Dante's desk, but is suddenly stopped by something long and thin across her body, stopping her progress forward. Off to the side, Vergil holds Yamato, still sheathed, out to impede her, effortlessly and single handedly halting her forward momentum. The look in his eyes is sharp, dripping with venom. He doesn't care much for what Dante gets up to in his spare time, but he is more inclined towards believing the word and apparent innocence of his brother before that of a complete and honestly barbaric stranger. And thus, he will defend Dante until proven guilty.   
  
His pride will not have it any other way.   
  
But the woman cares not for his intimidation display. Her brow furrows, and with a snort, she bats the currently harmless sword away, immediately lunging forward to grab at Dante's collar with both her hands. Though he's admittedly rather touched by his brother's faith in him, he raises a hand at Vergil even when the woman, seemingly effortlessly, lifts him out of his chair and halfway over his own desk. A gesture that tells Vergil he need not interfere. That he's got this under control.   
  
Because he does, really - he is the sole inheritor of Sparda's legacy, after all.   
  
That doesn't mean he isn't allowed to have a little fun.   
  
And, believing in his brother, Vergil stands down, albeit visibly displeased with a tranquil fury that seethes and simmers underneath the veneer of a clenched fist.   
  
"What happened to you two being neutral ground?" The woman bunches more of Dante's coat into her fist and twists on the spot to toss him over her shoulder. With a smile, one that's lost on the woman in her anger, Dante lets it happen. He doesn't make a sound when his back collides with the wooden floor, as casual and calm as can be.   
  
"Last I checked, that's what we still are." He replies with a shrug.   
  
"Then explain why two of our boys were found dead." The woman draws back a fist, gives a slight shake of her head. "Tell me what business a neutral party has with fucking around on our turf _.  _ If you can't tell me, then--" The downward swing of her hand is fast, surprisingly so, but for someone like Dante, someone so naturally attuned to the fight, there is ample time for him to respond. And he does so with a slow, but well-timed tilt of his head to one side, leaving the woman's fist sailing harmlessly by his head to punch right through the floorboards underneath where his head previously lay. He does no more than regard it with a slight widening of his eyes - a faux intrigue - and then he's looking back up at her. There's a palpable rage in her eyes, brimming and overflowing, yet she doesn't lash out with reckless abandon. That means she has discipline. Training. "--then I beat it out of you."   
  
Before she can pull her hand back from the gaping hole in the floorboards, Dante grabs her arm, mimicking her earlier motion and moving to flip her onto her back just as she had done to him. Whatever training she has, whether professional, or the sort taught by pain and personal experience, Dante intends to test it. Why? No particular reason, really. Just that it's been a quiet day in Devil May Cry.    
  
Vergil, meanwhile, senses this. He knows that Dante is simply playing with his food, so to speak, but he will give it a few more minutes before this ridiculous farce has to end.   
  
Just a few more minutes.   
  
The woman lets Dante grab her, arms immediately flying to his so that he can properly support her weight. Not that such a move was necessary in the first place, but she hasn't had the luxury? The honour? The  _ experience _ of fighting with a hybrid before, much less one of Dante's calibre - her usual targets are humans. Strong humans, yes, but ones with strength bound to the laws of human physics. Fighting a half demon is new. Potentially dangerous. And so that's why when she hits the floor, when Dante assumes he's turned the tables on her, she rolls, following the momentum and lines herself up along the length of Dante's arm, winding her legs around it, and locking them beyond his head in an arm bar. If she cannot gain the upper hand through physical strength alone, then all she has to do is endure. The pressure on his elbow and shoulder should render him immobile.   
  
Should. It depends on how lucky she gets.   
  
"You know what the rules of this town are." She adjusts her grip, twists Dante's arm just a little more, forces more weight onto his shoulder with a tensing of her legs. She can feasibly hold this position all day if she has to. "You do not engage with us, and we do not conduct our business within your proximity. _ That was the agreement! _ "   
  
The pulling sensation in Dante's shoulder is an inconvenience at best, the sharp pull of his muscles making it harder for him to properly worm his way out without muscle tearing. But he has the ability to instantly heal - what's a torn ligament or a broken bone in the face of that? He isn't afraid of where this situation could go, but he  _ is _ impressed by her ability to adapt..   
  
"And that's how I'd like to keep it. I like the neighbourhood being nice and quiet, you know?" With his free hand, Dante grabs the woman's ankle, ignoring the crackling feedback he feels surging through his fingertips at the contact with an unwilling Devil Arm. He forces the lock her legs have on him, feeling her fight to push back, feeling that jolt in his arm increase into an audible sizzle. The smell of rain returns to the office, and the very air begins to churn and vibrate, sparking and buzzing. An energy builds, one that both twins recognise as coming from the Devil Arm on her hands and feet.   
  
With a crack, Dante's arm jerks off the woman's ankle, blown back by an involuntary spasm in the muscles in his arms. And the pressure returns.   
  
But that's when Vergil decides he's waited long enough. He phases to the center of the office where two fools now lie in a grapple, sword already drawn. The tip of Yamato points down at the woman's throat, a wordless request for her to desist. But her stare is unwavering and adamant, the rage from before nowhere close to being quelled, and in an act of stubborn defiance, she tightens the hold on Dante's arm even more.   
  
So Vergil tries again.   
  
"This farce has carried on long enough. I will ask you only once -  _ let him go _ ." He emphasises his point with that on the Yamato, nudging it forward enough that it pricks into the skin under her chin.   
  
"You'd protect your piece of shit brother?" Her voice is as even as they'd ever heard it, a veritable calm before a crack of thunder. "I'd heard differently about you."   
  
" _ I will handle my brother _ ." A bead of crimson gathers on the tip of his sword, yet the woman doesn't lean away. "Whatever crime you are recklessly accusing him of committing will be investigated. And whatever ring you work for, whoever sent you here today, tell them that it is on our good grace that you return alive after this insult."   
  
She maintains eye contact with him, a sombre brown clashing with overcast eyes as she angles her head to one side to spit on their floor, at which Vergil frowns all the more. But she does relent, entire body going lax as Dante pulls himself free. He clambers to his feet, going to stand by his brother as he rotates the joint of his shoulder. But even with his brother now free, Vergil doesn't remove the Yamato from underneath the woman's chin, keeping it poised as the droplet of blood it's collecting grows larger.   
  
"I mean investigate all you want, Verge, I'm clean. Broke as we are all the time, I'm not big on turning to crime just to get by." Dante lets his arms fall to his sides. "You know, 'honour among thieves' or whatever."   
  
The older twin silences his brother with a sharp look out of his peripheral, but that split second he spent looking away from the woman results in something even  _ he _ failed to anticipate. Vergil feels a tug on the Yamato, and when he casts his eyes back down to the floor, it's to the woman gripping the blade with her hand. The feral look in her eyes is accentuated by the smile at pulls at her lips, slightly unhinged, deranged - not unlike a wild animal that's been backed into a corner with nothing to lose. The tension that Vergil can feel along his blade originates from both ends like an infernal, borderline sadistic game of tug-of-war. Neither side will give in, even when blood seeps from within the gaps of her gauntlets, dripping down her hand and gathering at the butt of her palm. It paints bright red spots on her jackets with each drop, blooming into tainted flowers on the material.   
  
"Then you will eventually come to realise that your good grace was wasted on me." Her hold on Yamato's sharp edge tightens, and Vergil can feel her twist the blade in her hand. With such force and with the cutting edge that Vergil knows Yamato has, it has to be cutting to the bone, yet she doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink. She is resolute, and he can't tell if that look in her eyes is fearless or reckless.   
  
"You'll realise that you should have just fucking killed me when you had the chance, bitch boy."


End file.
